


Time To Begin

by nesrynfaliq



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOWAR, Angst, F/M, Fake Dating, Lucien is Sad, Prompt Fill, it comes out when elucien, there's a soul in me somewhere, tiny bit of niceness because i'm not a total fucking monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 02:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: Prompt:  “Isn’t it time we both stopped pretending we make each other happy?” Elain and Lucien have been pretending to be falling in love with each other to keep him safe while he stays with the Night Court. Elain’s announcement over breakfast that she wants to stop this shatters him.‘Besides, he had consoled himself, having Elain take his arm and show him around the House of Wind and eat breakfast with him is probably a far nicer way to force his secrets out of him than finding himself on the other end of the shadowsinger’s dagger.He had been wrong. So wrong. Those words, the fact that she can’t even stand to pretend that he makes her happy any longer, stings far worse than anything the Night Court’s terrifying spymaster might have done to him in trying to discover his secrets.’





	Time To Begin

**Author's Note:**

> Not planned/edited I'm still in 'Just Write' mode. I might tidy it up at a later date but for the moment..here it is.

 “Isn’t it time we both stopped pretending we make each other happy?”

 Elain’s voice is soft when it reaches him across the small table they’re quietly eating breakfast at. The words are so sudden, such an unexpected, stinging way to interrupt the peaceful quiet between them that Lucien finds his fork slipping from numb fingers, clattering to the table. 

She looks up at the same time he does, meeting his eyes, wide and shocked while hers are oddly composed. There’s a strength in her, a strength no-one else can see, as she shatters him with quiet, graceful ease. 

He should have known it wouldn’t last. He couldn’t even have her, his mate, in a false dream, never mind reality. Lucien had arrived at the Night Court some months back. 

Elain had come to him on one of his first evenings here, slipping into the room that was very nicely furnished but had felt entirely too much like a cell. She had sat on the bed beside him and nervously told him of the horrors this court could unleash upon him. 

She told him that she could feel the bond between them, that she had felt what had happened to him in Spring and didn’t want him to endure any more here. Her big brown eyes had met his as she told him quietly that she had a plan. She’s Feyre’s sister, that gives her some little sway here, enough to protect him, her mate, if they pretend that they’re together, pretend he’s hers. They won’t hurt him then. 

Her part had been played so well, the girl is a natural at this, manipulation and deceit. He would have been proud of her, had she not been using it on him. Cauldron, he was probably proud of her anyway. The way she had anxiously gripped the blanket between her nervous hands, how her lip had trembled when she had talked about how dangerous some people in this court were, how she her voice had seemed to break when she told him that she’d felt his pain, couldn’t bare for him to go through any more. 

Lucien had almost found himself believing her. For half a heartbeat, he had almost believed that she cared. 

But then reason had kicked in. She had been in this court for months, listening to their lies, and their truths, about him. They’d probably told her he was a selfish coward, that he had propped Tamlin up for years, that he had helped him destroy Feyre piece by piece by piece. They were right. He’s an enemy here, they want him kept close, want to milk him for information and there’s no-one better for that than this woman. 

Even knowing it was a trap, even knowing that she was lying to his face with that sweet, guileless smile...He hadn’t been able to say no to her. He should have, Mother damn him he should have. He’s tired of being used, of being played with, of being someone else’s collateral damage in their great plans for this world but...This might be all she ever gives him. This beautiful little fantasy might be the only time he ever gets to spend with his mate. He can’t turn it away. Even if not of it is real. 

Besides, he had consoled himself, having Elain take his arm and show him around the House of Wind and eat breakfast with him is probably a far nicer way to force his secrets out of him than finding himself on the other end of the shadowsinger’s dagger. 

He had been wrong. So wrong. Those words, the fact that she can’t even stand to pretend that he makes her happy any longer, stings far worse than anything the Night Court’s terrifying spymaster might have done to him. 

Forcing a composure that he doesn’t feel, centuries worth of training and instincts kicking in to allow him that one small shred of dignity, Lucien makes himself meet her eyes. She’s watching him steadily, biting her lip, as though afraid of how he might react, that he might get angry. Any trace of anger that might have been left in him floods away at that sight. 

He wants to hold her hand. It’s sitting on the table only a few inches from his own, he wants to hold her, reassure her that he will  _never_  hurt her, no matter what she’s done to him. But it feels too forward, too desperate, and he doesn’t want to give her the wrong impression here. 

Instead he forcibly clasps his hands in his own lap, keeping himself restrained, away from her. He’s impressed, and slightly saddened because how many times has he had to do this in his life? by how steady his voice is when he answers her, “Of course, Elain.” She blinks, seeming startled, as though this wasn’t the reaction she had been expecting from him at all, “If that’s what you think is best, we don’t have to continue this any longer.” 

He wants to say more, wants to reassure her she doesn’t have to pretend for the sake of his safety, that he’ll be quite alright, but he can’t bear to remain at the table a second longer. Rising stiffly, he starts to walk for the door, hating that he has to walk directly behind her chair in order to do so. 

Elain’s hand darts out, gripping his forearm and stopping him. He looks down at her and he can’t help the way his heart melts when he looks into her eyes, so full of concern and worry that seems so...genuine. That’s been the problem with her. Everything they’ve done has felt so  _real_ , he had almost started to delude himself that she liked this, liked him, that it had become more than just a game to her, as it had to him. 

_Stupid, stupid stupid, stupid, stupid_. He should never have let her get under his skin like this, should never have allowed her this level of control over him. When will he learn? When will he ever stop doing this? When- 

“Lucien,” Elain whispers, her voice trembling, “Lucien, please, please don’t leave, please, I, oh, oh no-” She drops his arm, burying her face in her hands and Lucien is too shocked to move, even if he’d wanted to. 

“Elain?” he croaks questioningly, unable to stop himself when her silence stretches longer than a minute. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers at last, lifting her face to look at him with shining eyes. Cauldron it’s not fair, not fair how somehow, still, even with everything he knows, with her rejecting even pretending to be with him, he still feels as though she cares for him when she looks at him like that. 

He can’t stand her apology,  _won’t_  stand her apology, and shakes his head, cutting her off as she goes to speak again. “It’s quite alright, dove,” he breathes, the soft pet name slipping out without thought before he can stop it. “You don’t have anything to apologise for. I understand. This, this must have been very difficult for you, if you can’t do it any more I...I appreciate what you have done for me, I-” 

Why is he thanking her for manipulating him the way she has? Why is he praising her for pretending that she cares? Why is he so understanding of her not being able to do this any more? Perhaps because these last few months have been better than anything else that’s happened in centuries. Even if it was all a lie, even if none of it was ever real...At least she made him feel like it could be. At least she made him feel like he might be loved, cared for, in another life, if things had turned out differently. At least she had tried to love him. 

“Stop!” The word snaps out of her, making him start in surprise at the strength and vehemence behind it. The gentleness returns to her a moment later, inevitable as a quiet tide sweeping into a bay, “Lucien please, please look at me.” He does so, unable to refuse this woman anything. 

Pushing her chair back Elain gets to her feet. It doesn’t make all that much difference, really, she still stands almost a foot shorter than him, delicate and graceful, like the plants she so loves to tend. They had walked through the gardens last week and she had told him all about the plants there. She had learned each and every one of their names and had babbled excitedly about how wonderful they were, how she had never seen anything like them before. All he’d been able to think was how much she would have loved Spring, had it not been poisoned by the corruption festering at its heart. He would have liked to have shown her that. Would have liked to take her riding, to along all of his favourite trails, to the secret, quiet spots he had never shown anyone before. 

His thoughts cut off abruptly when she reaches up, cupping his cheek in her hand, stroking with the thumb. The contact shocks through him like a bolt of lightning and he can only blink down at her. “I’ve made such a mess of this,” she whispers quietly. He opens his mouth to gently interrupt her but she glowers at him, actually going as far as to stamp her foot on the rich marble tiles beneath them, “No,” she growls out, “Just, just listen.” 

He falls silent, nodding his assent, and she takes a deep breath. “Lucien,” she breathes, sadness evident in those beautiful, liquid brown eyes. “Lucien I didn’t mean, I, oh-” She looks troubled, “I didn’t mean I wanted to stop this,” she says, gesturing around at the quaint little breakfast they’ve been having, meaning to imply the entirety of this little fable they’ve created together. “Well, I do,” she corrects herself, frowning slightly as she tries to sort through her muddled thoughts, “But not, not like that, not.” 

“What are you trying to say, dove?” he prompts as she returns to anxiously biting her lip, his mouth going dry as he studies her. 

“I thought...I thought it was time we stopped  _pretending_  that we make each other happy, Lucien and...And started admitting that we do,” she says, a soft flush of colour flooding her cheeks at the words. “I thought you would understand,” she goes on, sounding distressed now, “I thought you would know what I was trying to say, I thought you felt that too but-” A new thought seems to strike her and she looks up at him, unable to disguise the pain in her eyes, “Do you, do you not feel happy with me? Did I get it wrong? Are you only pretending? Can you be that good at pretending, I thought, I, oh-” 

“Elain,” he rasps, silencing her as she breaks down and starts babbling utterly incoherently, “Elain.” He raises a shaking hand, touching her at last, brushing her hair behind her ear then cupping her face in his hand, lifting it up to coax her to look at him. “You weren’t wrong,” he murmurs, “You do make me happy, dove, happier than I thought I could be again.” How does she do this to him? Pull these truths he should have learned to guard better from him as though they’re nothing, idle scraps of information with no real importance. “But I thought...None of this is real, Elain,” he murmurs, gesturing around them. 

“I know,” she whispers then frowns in that endearing little way of hers, shaking her head. “I know it wasn’t supposed to be,” she amends, “I wasn’t supposed to feel anything for you, it was supposed to be easy, it wasn’t supposed to hurt like this, I-” 

Angry tears form in her eyes and Lucien can’t stop himself from reaching up to brush them gently away. She sniffs, smiling at him in thanks, then manages to keep going, “I knew you were my mate, of course,” she whispers, “But I didn’t really know what that meant. Not until you came here and we started spending time together. I don’t know if it’s the bond but..I think...I don’t think that it is, Lucien, I think it’s just you.” She bites on her lip, blushing again as she whispers softly, “You make me happy.” 

The words are so simple, lacking the refined, courtly elegance he was raised to, but they’re all the more meaningful for that. Real, this girl is so  _real_ , so genuine with all of her smiles, all of her lightness and her laughter and her infectious joy. How he ever ended up mated to someone like this, when more and more it seems as though his purpose in this life is to suck the light out of it, leaving all in darkness. 

Clearing his throat he manages to rasp out, “You make me happy as well, dove.” 

Her smile when he says those words almost guarantees that he’s going to drag himself through another century, another Cauldron damned millennia, just for the chance to see it again before he leaves this world. 

“I got so confused,” she admits, stepping closer, taking his hand and leading them over to the low, squashy couches inside the room. She settles down on it, tugging him down as he well and he obliges her. “It wasn’t supposed to be real, any of it.I was just supposed to-” she breaks off, flushing a deeper scarlet than his hair and looking away from him. He feels a flutter against the bond, a pattern of feeling he’s slowly been learning to interpret as he’s spent time with her, and realising that it’s shame. 

“To make me trust you, tell you secrets about the  Spring Court and about Tamlin and Hybern’s plans for the war so you could help Rhys and Feyre destroy them?” He asks evenly. 

She nods, her shame deepening as she does so, and when she looks up at  him again he’s startled to see tears in her ears. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers hoarsely. 

Lucien shakes his head, a little bemused by the strength of her reaction. “It was war, Elain,” he says quietly, “You did what you had to to protect the people that you loved. I can’t hold that against you.”

“But I lied to you,” she squeaks, covering her mouth with a hand as though even uttering those words is too much of a disgrace for her to bear. “I lied to you and manipulated you and tricked you and-” Lucien arches an eyebrow, a little amused by this small torrent of confessions, and she blushes again. 

A laugh barks out of him in response, he can’t help himself, and he smiles fondly over at her for managing to draw that small splinter of joy from him. “It was a very nice lie,” he says soothingly, patting her knee where it’s curled up under her, almost touching him. 

“It was,” she murmurs quietly, “Until it stopped being a lie altogether.” He blinks at her, startled by the candidness of that admission. She swallows, seeming to struggle with herself, “I thought it would be difficult, spending time with you, pretending to like you, pretending that I was happy around you,” she says, blushing again, “I’ve never been very good at that, at pretending but...” 

She looks up at him again, meeting his eyes as she says, “I didn’t have to pretend for very long. You were...You were so easy to be around, so easy to talk to and feel comfortable with. I thought at first it might be magic, something with the bond encouraging me but...It wasn’t. I know that now.” She reaches out, taking Lucien’s hand in both of her own. “It was just...Just you. You made me feel safe and happy and I...I stopped pretending a long time ago but it..It took me so long to realise it...”

It had only taken him about a day to realise that he couldn’t have any fun with this, couldn’t play her at her own game as he’d been intending too. The bond ached in his chest at the very thought and after that first quiet meal they’d eaten together, he’d known that he was lost to her. He could never harm her, not in any way, he would just take whatever scraps she saw fit to give him, indulge in this dream as long as she would allow, pretend that he wasn’t falling for her harder and harder with every day they spent together. 

“It scared me,” she murmurs quietly,” Because it...It wasn’t supposed to be real, I wasn’t supposed to feel anything for you but I...I did. I _do_ , I-“ She takes a deep breath, stealing herself, then, “You make me happy, Lucien,” she says it so simply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I thought...I never thought I would feel this way for someone else again. After I was Made losing...Everything. I thought...I thought I could do this, I thought there was no way I could ever truly want this, this bond, this relationship, not after everything I-“

Lucien realises with a start that...She had thought herself broken. She had lost everything, her love, her family, her home, just as he had all those years ago with the death of his partner. She had thought herself broken beyond repair after that, just as he had. She had thought that she could be hard and cold and resist this world and the pulls it had on her soul to make her feel things so deeply...Just as he had. She had thought that she would never feel for another what she had for her first love, just as he had. And she had found herself falling for another anyway, despite her best intentions to the contrary...Just as he had.

“I was wrong,” she says, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she admits that. “And I...I can’t keep pretending anymore, Lucien, I can’t. It’s too hard because I...I-“ _Say it_ he beseeches her silently, not sure if he presses the impulse through the bond or not; not sure if he wants to or not, but either way, she must understand. “I think I’m falling for you, Lucien,” she whispers quietly, daring to look him in the eye as she does so. “And I don’t want to do that as part of some game or trick or lie, I, I want it to be real. I want to do this properly. For you. My...My mate.”

Lucien stares at her in silence for almost a full minute, watching her anxiously stare at him, trying to discern his intentions. He goes to war with himself in that minute, agonising over the things he wants to say, how he should answer, how to tell her everything that’s been inside him, desperate for release, for months now. Until at last he abandons logic and reason and allows himself to indulge his instincts for the first time in too long.

He surges for her, sliding a hand behind her head, the other behind her back, and drawing her against him, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. Elain lets out a tiny ‘oh’ of surprise against his mouth and then she’s melting into him, parting her lips for his tongue, not at all shy in her greed for him, what she asks from him, what she _takes_ from him. The kiss is long, lingering and hot, and he never wants it to end, never wants to stop kissing her, never wants to let go of her. His mate. His _mate_. For the first time since he’s met her, he thinks that he _truly_ understands what that means.

At last though, they’re forced to break apart. He still holds her cautiously in his hands, hesitantly watching for her reaction to his forwardness. If it was too much, if she wasn’t ready, if he’s just ruined- Elain straightens her dress, smoothing out the creases, a soft flush lining her cheeks. Just as Lucien is becoming convinced that he’s just ruined everything, she gives up on words as well, grabs the front of his tunic, and pulls him back down to kiss her.

He laughs against her lips as she does so, letting her lead the kiss this time, letting her explore them, explore this. Their hands roam gently over one another’s bodies, sliding and stroking through the other’s hair, touching faces and hands, jolting lightly in pleasure whenever skin meets skin as they search one another out.

Finally, when they’ve managed to stop kissing one another and attempt to scrape together some words, Elain cups his face in her hand, her thumb brushing tenderly over the deep slash in his cheek and asks in a quiet murmur, “No more pretending?”

He laughs again, not sure when he’s ever done so much of that in recent, or distant, memory, presses a kiss to her nose, making her blink and smile in a bemused sort of way. “No more pretending,” he promises quietly, before he leans in again and stops pretending that he wants to do anything at all for the rest of the morning but kiss her.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Comments would be greatly appreciated if you have a second, I'm always thirsty for feedback.


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